Today is the Last Day of the Rest of My Life
by fmapreshwab
Summary: A Ronon POV of the day Rodney stopped. Character Death.
1. The City Stood Still

It was a no-mission day and I was bored, not really having any duties or obligations of my own aside from being the muscle on missions, so I did what I always do when I'm bored. I sought out McKay. I know that there are only three places he would be on an average day (average meaning our lives weren't under any immediate threat): the labs, the mess, or the infirmary, agitating Beckett. And so I set out to search for him.

There weren't many people in the labs, odd considering the city's impressive compliment of scientists, and Rodney wasn't one of them. The mess was practically deserted, also odd, but nothing to catch my attention. What really bothered me was when, coming out of the transporter nearest the infirmary, I couldn't hear Rodney's angry shrieking. Something was definitely wrong.

I continued on to Beckett's haven, still eerily quiet. I opened the door and dropped into a defensive couch. The smell of the infirmary, antiseptic and air fresheners, had been replaced, or rather overpowered, by an all too familiar sour, metallic scent. The place reeked of blood.

I walked along the corridors created between the curtains of individual rooms until the smell became nearly unbearable. I was about to leave, radio the control tower of a possible security breech, when I saw shadows. Peering around one of the curtains, I let my tense muscles relax in a grateful sigh at the sight of Beckett over one of his patients. Straightening from the crouch, I made my presence known to the doctor.

"Beckett," I growled, all too aware that everyone in the city expected me to growl like an animal when I approached them.

"Hello, Ronon," the doctor replied warily, barely sparing me a glance after the initial shock of my arrival.

"What happened to him?" I asked, gesturing to the patient. He was turned away from me, so I couldn't address the man by name. I wouldn't have bothered, except that Sheppard had lectured me about small talk and properly inserting myself into the general public the day before.

"There was a small malfunction in one of the labs; poor lad caught the brunt of an explosion getting Radek out of the way."

Shifting, I could see a stitched gash across the man's chest, along with some blood on his sheets near where his leg would be. "Will he be alright?" I asked, more because it seemed expected of me than because I particularly cared.

"Ay, he's a strong one, all evidence to the contrary," he added with a wry grin. "He should be fine in a few days."

"Who is he?" I asked, making a mental note to mention all this to McKay when I found him. Beckett looked up at me, employing what Rodney called the 'doctor glare', a look that integrated concern and reproach.

"Why, lad, it's Rodney."


	2. I Hate Funerals

I wish I could say something uplifting, something inspiring or heartfelt. I just wish I could say something. But I can't. My mouth won't move and the sound refuses to come as my eyes glue themselves to the box, small and light, made from a dark wood found on the mainland.

All I can think of is him, McKay, always fidgeting and moving. There was always something, a tapping foot, a clenching and unclenching fist, eyes that were never truly at rest. Rodney was always moving, and it annoyed me. It frustrated me, made me nervous, pissed me off, and all I can think about is how much it hurts, like a physical blow, to see him lying so still, so pale.

He's wearing a suit of a type I've never seen, something Sheppard called a tie, laying still in the box as we pay our respects, say our goodbyes. I need him to move, need him to fidget and yell and gesture wildly like he does when he yells at his staff. I need him to move, need him to be okay like Beckett told me he would, or maybe I'll stop moving, stop being okay too.

I barely register my mouth opening, the sound coming out as the tears start to roll. "He was our friend. He's saved my life more times than I can count and now he's gone. He was my friend and I will miss him." Simple, curt, appropriate. Sheppard and Teyla are nodding encouragingly at me. "We all well."

I'm finished, couldn't say another word if I tried, and I barely make it back to my seat before my knees collapse under me. I hate funerals.


End file.
